Chapter Text
Her house is warm and it smells.
It's not a bad smell, it smells like butterscotch and cinnamon, you don't dislike it, but it's a really strong smell, and it's hurting your nose and you can already feel it giving you a headache.
You want to cover your nose, but your mom always hated it when you did something like that. Covering your ears or eyes or nose. She said it was rude, and Toriel is really nice and you really like her, so you really don't want her to think that you're rude.
Still, the smell in here is loud.
You have your arms crossed to keep them from flapping, because your mom said that was a bad thing. And your classmates at school used to tease you about it, and so that's how you know that your mom might have been right about it. So you keep your hands still and very far away from your face, and you try to keep it together and hope that you'll be able to figure out a way to discreetly shield yourself from the smells later.
But, ugh, you can feel it getting under your skin and making the muscles between your shoulders tense and achy, and you're also pretty sure that Toriel is starting to notice that something is amiss.
"Are you alright, my child?" she asks you. You really like the sound of her voice. It's high pitched and sing-song-y soft, very nice on your ears.
You bite your lip, and carefully shake your head, signing [No] at her hurriedly. [I'm OK].
She looks skeptical, which makes you wonder what kind of facial expression you're wearing. Most of the time, expressions don't always make it to your face right, but you've gotten good at hiding them on the rare occasions where they manage it. Still, sometimes they slip through anyway, most of the time it happens when you're on your way to a sensory overload.
"You can tell me if you have a problem." She assures you gently, "I will do my best to help you."
You hesitate, tapping your toes on the floor a little as you consider telling her what the problem is. [Smells loud], you admit finally, glancing away and preparing to be yelled at.
But she doesn't yell at you. Or even get mad at you. Instead, she starts to laugh.
"Oh goodness, I apologize dear, I might have gotten a little overexcited in my baking." She laughs again, like she's embarrassed. "I can simply open a window, and the smell should fade in a few moments." She starts to walk towards her kitchen, and then stops, looking back at you worriedly, "It doesn't smell bad, does it?"
[No! Smells good.] You rush to assure her, then scrunch your face up slightly. [Just loud]
She laughs, and this time you think it's relief, and you smile up at her because you like the sound of her laugh as well.
You lift one of your sweater sleeves to your face as she walks off and breathe in the comforting smell of your lavender laundry detergent and think that this place might not be as bad as you thought it would be.